Weigh-day! Weigh-day! The number two popped into my head as I was climbing the four flights of stairs yesterday between the 3rd and the 1st. floors at work for the umpteenth time. Hmmm – does that mean I should buy a lottery ticket and select random numbers that include “2”? Was I getting ‘too’ tired getting ready for the promotional process craziness next week? Would it be ‘two” more weeks before things settled down halfway through the month-long process of getting 100 people through the Assessment Centre (interviews, in-basket simulation, written exercise)? Maybe then I could start sleeping regularly and not sitting bolt upright in bed at 2 a.m. thinking of something else I had to get written/printed/scheduled? Perhaps.
Not really. I’ve been exhausted for days, going flat-out Type AA – running on adrenaline. Hub and I reveled in having a day to sleep in a bit without my alarm clock going ‘beep-beep-beep’ before the sun was up. By the time I rolled out of the sack, it was close to 8 o’clock. As I brushed my teeth, I considered spending today doing nutritional penance, drinking soup for my meals and not weighing myself until tomorrow. I had a mini-celebration last evening. Just because. Wine with dinner. Caesar salad (but only half a cup of salad). Popcorn lashed with melted butter and salted garlic.
But I’m no coward, so I stepped onto the scale and…eureka! I’m down two pounds this week. So that was my magic number. Am I happy? You bet. Twelve pounds down since January 1st. Sure it’s slow. And I’m not a patient person. It seems my body goes into sulks, holds on to every ounce for a while then something happens and it decides – ‘pah, I don’t need this’ and the weight comes off. The 8000 steps I’ve been doing most days all week certainly have helped, too.
I’m happy, happy, happy. Going to treat myself to a day of finishing my sewing projects. Yeah, me!